Clawtracks of a Star
by neutral
Summary: Three years after the conclusion of Of Western Stars, a force pulls Harry into another world where everything that he once knew was different. His father is alive, he and his mother dead, and Sirius Black is a servant of Voldemort [revision chapter 2]
1. of distant dreams

Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers. 

a/n I'm rewriting everything yet again. After the nine month break, I think my style changed somewhat. Rereading these chapters was quite torturous. Everything seemed overdone and just blah. Ack. I'm sorry about this rewrite though, and hopefully, it won't turn out the way it did for PoM (months and months of disappearances). I'll be working on the rewrite to WS along with the rewrite of this, but WS will not be posted until it is entirely complete.

This is the sequel to Of Western Stars, and I strongly recommend that you read that story before you read this one. Character relationships and character developments play a huge role, and without WS' background, this story will be a little hard to understand (though WS is being rewritten too. Arug. I really need to focus on one task at a time).

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_"He sang_

_How the swan blanched forever_

_How the wolf threw away its telltale heart_

_And the stars dropped their pretense…_

_He sang_

_How everything had nothing more to lose_

_Then sat still with fear_

_Seeing the clawtrack of star_

_Hearing the wingbeat of rock_

_And his own singing"_

- _Owl's Song_ by Ted Hughes

**Clawtracks of a Star**

By neutral

Chapter one - of dreaming

For the first time in many, many years, Harry could not recall a dream. He sat still, his hands clutching at the blankets of his four-poster and his knees tucked under his chin, and tried hard not to blink. _Concentrate,_ he told himself. Harry tilted his head back, letting his eyes slide out of focus and tried to imagine reaching out with his hands through thick fogs of magic. He felt himself slowly slipping away and Harry searched through the blurred shapes that were stray dreams, searching for something familiar…

It wasn't working. The dream wasn't returning.

Harry let his head drop again, worrying his lip in thought. The dream felt so strange and so _wrong_; it sent shivers along his spine just trying to remember it. Harry wasn't even sure if he wanted to but it felt important, and he had always trusted his instinct. 

_Dreams of the past or future were natural to people who are sensitive to magic_, he remembered Dumbledore telling him once, _but dreams are like words that are spoken to select people. Sometimes they are visions shown to people who are not meant to see them. If you see such a vision, you can only contend with a feeling of unease and snatches of familiar reminders from the world around you, but the vision itself you will never remember again._

Perhaps he had such a vision this time…

If he did, it was hopeless then. No amount of thinking could ever get it back. Harry worried his lip again. The feeling of dread just wouldn't go away.

Harry had stopped dreaming when he moved into Moor House. Or at least, he stopped seeing premonitory dreams. He still had nightmares once a while, a lasting scar the years of abuse that refused to heal. But his ability of foresight vanished as he began his training in magic. Having it return was unsettling, and Harry didn't know what to make of it. 

With an inward sigh, Harry pushed back the covers and sat up. Sleep wouldn't come again that night and it'll be at least three hours before either of his two guardians would wake. He could at least be useful, Harry decided. He could fly a little and reinforce the wards a bit, then cook breakfast, and maybe cast a heating charm in the cellar as it was the full moon tonight and it looked like it was going to be very cold…

Harry slipped out of bed and smoothened out the covers on instinct. He pulled out a warm set of clothes from the dresser that Sirius had left behind from his childhood. Almost everything in Harry's bedroom, besides his clothes belonged to Sirius once. Harry never wanted to change anything, and the new bookshelf at the far corner was a birthday present that Sirius had insisted couldn't be placed anywhere else.

Folding his worn pajamas away, Harry pulled on a thin coat and examined his room again. _His bedroom…_ Sometimes, it still shocked him that Sirius had taken him away, saved him, had taken care of him, and then had turned around to give him more even when he didn't have to and Harry had given him so much trouble… Sirius had given him a home, a family… _everything_… 

Harry desperately hoped that nothing would come from that dream—he didn't want any part of his life to change.

Harry sneaked into the hall on tiptoe, buttoning a few buttons of his coat to keep off the early winter chill. He didn't want to wake anyone up, especially not Remus who was such a light sleeper when it was a full moon that night. But when he reached the banister, a familiar warmth washed over him—the blood oath; Harry could always sense it when Remus or Sirius were near—and he peeked between the rails to see his godfather sluggishly flipping through the morning post. It seemed to be one of the few days that Sirius had awoken early but wasn't quite awake enough to do anything more than lounge on a couch. 

Sirius seemed close to nodding off in his seat. Harry suddenly had the perfect idea.

Using the banister as leverage, Harry propped himself up on an elbow and swung his legs over the top. He closed his eyes, imagining the fog again and reaching out to it, willing it into his arms, his legs, his face, his skin. Distantly, he could feel his hands twist and snap, the thin bones clicking into place. His head narrowed and his vision blurred as his glasses fused into his face. The wave of vertigo washed over him and Harry was again at the banister in a brighter, more colorful room.

Stretching out his arms, Harry leaped from the second story. The air caught his wings as he fell and, guiding his body carefully, he settled neatly on a mop of hair.

The reaction was instantaneous.

"Eh …!" Sirius spluttered on his drink, jumping up in surprise. He tripped over the edge of his chair in his haste, and, as he attempted to catch his balance, dumped the rest of his coffee over the couch.

Harry took the opportunity to fly out of the way, making a graceful arc just below the high ceiling of the living room. It was a lot harder flying up than falling down and with no indoor breeze to carry him, Harry had to madly flap his arms.

A year ago, Sirius had finally decided to teach him the animagus transfiguration, after his numerous accidents of stumbling into a cellar on the full moon. The wolf never attacked him—the blood oath had bound them too tightly and the wolf could not hurt his own—but that had not prevented Sirius from suffering panic attacks watching over him on full moon nights and Remus from nearly having heart failures the mornings after.

Neither of them was surprised at how quickly he mastered the complex spell. Harry's magic always molded in unpredictable and often uncontrollable ways. But when the slow shifting of bones passed and Harry found himself shrunken to the size of a cushion, Sirius and Remus had been speechless for a full minute. 

_It felt so strange… as if a portkey had pulled his insides out, minus the pain, and reshuffled them like a mismatched puzzle. Harry craned his neck up at a strange and unnatural angles—he could see in panoramic!—trying to find his two guardians again. Remus and Sirius had fallen eerily silent._

_They were so tall! Sirius was bending over to look at him. Oh no, was he a worm??_

_Panicking slightly, Harry leaned forward to try to look for his possibly absent feet, but his shoulders were too heavy and his center of balance was hopelessly skewed. Instinctively, he tried to brace himself with his hands, but his arms refused to bend that way, and with a strange squeak, Harry tipped and landed in a lump._

_"Oh…" Sirius finally whispered, breathless._

_Harry twisted his head around, trying to find his godfather, but he kept pressing his head in some white fluff that somehow popped up all around him. His throat kept making soft squeaking noises and Harry was completely bewildered._

_Abruptly, a large, warm thing brushed past his belly and scooped him up. Harry eeped in shock again when a pair of eyes—his godfather's eyes, but they were so **big**—peered down at him with a mixture of amusement and surprise. He was small enough to fit on Sirius' hands…_

_"Remus, look…" Sirius lifted Harry's arm as though it was made of glass. "Feathers. Harry's a little bird!"_

_And he burst into a contagious smile and attempted to ruffle Harry's head with one finger._

Harry had been so disappointed that he wasn't a dog or a wolf…

Though, Harry reflected, it really didn't turn out as innocently as Sirius had initially speculated. His godfather had been convinced he was a pigeon, and since his age transferred directly to the animagus form, he had a soft fluff all over his back and looked like any other young bird. Remus took one glance at his talons and proclaimed him a bird of prey, before scurrying off to the library. 

He was a falcon ('Or rather, Gyrfalcon,' Remus had proclaimed with his nose buried in a bird watching field guide. 'Also known as _Falco rusticolus_, the largest and most formidable of the _Falco_ genus with wingspans up to 160 centimeters… oh! Harry, apparently, you mostly feed on other birds. Somewhat of a cannibalistic practice…'). And like the rest of that species, Harry had the terrible misfortune of being nightblind. He could never stay with Remus on full moons. Harry had been depressed for days because of it, but the freedom to fly made up for that a little…

Harry transformed back in midair—he had not yet mastered the technique of landing on his feet—and ducked behind a divan.

"Morning, Padfoot," he greeted, smiling widely over the top of the couch.

Sirius glared at his godson, seemingly at a loss for words. Flicking his wand carelessly at the mess, Sirius folded away his newspaper and took several intimidating steps forward.

"Harry, that is not a very nice thing to do to your godfather at five in the morning," Sirius chided, still sounding half asleep though he did not look it.

"But you needed to be woken up, right?" Harry said with the most innocent look he could muster. "You won't need any coffee now."

"I was already awake, and need I remind you that the reason I don't have coffee is because you made me spill it?" Sirius accented his words with a sharp glare. He took another step forward, tucking his wand behind an ear like some sort of muggle pen. "Now, that not very nice thing deserves a not very nice punishment, let's say…"

Harry made a soft eep that sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter and made a mad dash to the staircase. He barely scrambled up halfway before Sirius caught the nine year old by the waist, swinging him off his feet. He dumped the boy unceremoniously on the divan, careful to aim for a pile of blankets to cushion the fall, mercilessly tickling him. Harry squirmed and nearly choked in his fit of laughter. He flailed his arms to fend off more tickle attacks, then as that failed to work, tried to crawl discreetly away. As if finally deciding that his godson was punished, Sirius set him back on his feet. Harry fell right back on the carpeted floor, laughing between gasps of air.

"Aren't I too old for this?" Harry's smile was impossible to wipe off, even as he struggled to catch his breath.

That seemed to dim some of Sirius' good-humor. His smile faltered for a moment, before he sat down beside his godson on the floor and messily ruffled Harry's hair.

"You'll never be too old for anything," Sirius said firmly. "You'll always be a little six year old boy to me."

Harry's smile became wistful, and Sirius knew he was remembering the events three years ago that felt like both just days and a lifetime past.

"And look at you," Sirius added softly, drawing the boy into a one-armed hug. "You're still a little runt. You're not going to be old for a long, long time, Harry."

Or he hoped Harry wouldn't… Sirius was inwardly nostalgic.

The past years rushed by too quickly for Sirius' comfort. He only had Harry for three years. All those years that Sirius and Remus would have given up anything to have him, the Dursleys stole and corrupted it. Sometimes Sirius wished he could have a time turner and relive Harry's childhood again and again and again…

But Harry was growing up too fast for Sirius to keep up.

Sirius tried to ignore it, hoping sometimes that the truth would go away and hide if he didn't pay attention. But in less than two years, Harry would be leaving for Hogwarts. That was one of the final keystones to Harry's fragmented childhood. He would leave the Moor House and return to the world his two guardians had hidden him from. But Sirius wasn't ready to let his godson go. 

Sirius mentally flinched; he was beginning to sound worse than some grandparents and he could just imagine James smirking at him. It was rather horrifying how parenthood had made him so obsessive. Perhaps Remus was right. He did have some compulsive parent syndrome, or whatever Remus had called it…

Sirius snapped back into attention when Harry ruffled his hair in retaliation, an action reminiscent of the little six year old boy who had patted a stray dog's head.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked, tilting his head curiously. "You seem distracted."

"Wondering why you're up at five in the morning," Sirius replied with a pointed glare. That wasn't exactly true, but he couldn't quite tell Harry that he didn't want him to grow up. That would be awkward.

But the expression on Harry's face told him he already knew. He was too intuitive for his own good.

Harry smiled—a small knowing smile that made Sirius wonder exactly how much he understood. He dropped his head on his godfather's shoulder as if trying to reassure him, but the previous tickling war left him slightly disoriented. He swayed to one side and smacked his forehead against Sirius' chin.

"Ow…" Sirius sat back, gingerly fingered his bruised bone. "Was that my punishment for tickling you?"

"I was going to give you a hug but I missed," Harry muttered sheepishly. He scrubbed at his forehead with a sleeve, looking apologetic.

Sirius couldn't hide the laughter at that. He grinned widely at the little boy (not really that little any longer, but he couldn't bring himself to think otherwise), rubbing Harry's forehead where it collided with his chin and suffocating him in a tight hug. 

Harry was so innocent, so naïve, so completely wonderful and adorable and just the most perfect godson he could ask for… though, Sirius reflected, Remus would probably tell him it was that parenting syndrome speaking and Sirius was being terribly biased. 

_"Padfoot, there's a muggle ailment called Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Have you heard about it?" Remus said rather unexpectedly._

_Sirius barely moved from his position beside the fire. It was one of those rare days the three members of the small household decided to withdraw into the study. It was a stormy night and time flew past them unchecked; it had grown late without either them noticing. Harry had fallen asleep over his Defense Against the Dark Arts book and Sirius let him sleep, tucked into the couch beside him._

_"Isn't that a psychological disorder?" Sirius asked sleepily. _

_"Yeah. They applied it to some interesting cases." Remus looked at him rather pointedly. "Have you heard of the sister complex?"_

_Sirius lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah. All of my ex-girlfriends' older brothers had it." _

_Sirius' thoughts rapidly backpedaled after that confession and he glanced at his godson nervously. Harry was still blissfully out of it. Sirius inwardly sighed in relief._

_"Really?" Remus looked thoughtful. "The study shows that only about 35% of brothers with younger sisters have it."_

_"No, trust me, all of them have it with varying degrees of severity," Sirius grimaced. "It was damn painful sometimes too. Remus, if you ever decide to date…"_

_Remus choked._

_"…pick a girl who has sisters, preferably two," Sirius continued with much seriousness. "Those girls usually know how to cook and you have choices to fall back on if the first doesn't work out."_

_Sirius could feel Remus staring at him in shocked silence for some time. Of course, he noted with some amusement, no one was really that clear on all his ventures after Hogwarts. He ought to tell Remus sometime… preferably when Harry was not nearby…_

_With some amount of paranoia, Sirius looked at his godson again. If Harry heard that, Sirius' image of being the perfect godfather would go up in smoke…_

_"Have you heard of…" Remus hesitated, and Sirius could feel the back of his skull practically get drilled in, "the godfather complex?"_

_Sirius blinked. "The… what…?" _

_"The parenting syndrome related to obsessive compulsiveness," Remus had turned on his innocent, scholarly expression full blast. "It makes godfathers overly protective of their godsons and gives them an irrational urge to wrap their godsons in a cocoon and hide them in a jar and makes them believe their godsons are the most adorable little boys in…"_

_Sirius flung a pillow at his head._

_Well_, Sirius huffed inwardly, _it can't be helped that Harry is just an amazing little boy…_

Sirius could barely remember how he had lived those years past without Remus and Harry filling up his mismatched family. Azkaban felt like some distant dream now, and the nine year old boy was the brick wall that kept those demons at bay. He had built his entire life around his godson, and though Remus kept reminding him that he needed to find his own anchor, Sirius never did. Harry needed him. He needed his guidance, his protection, his reminders that there were people who loved him in this world. Sometimes, Sirius wanted nothing more than to hide Harry far away, away from the clutches of reality, society, and anything that would ever hurt him. But Sirius and Remus had kept themselves recluses for years already, and it was impossible to keep The Boy Who Lived hidden forever.

"What am I going to do without you?" Sirius murmured with a soft sigh.

Harry stiffened against his shirt, and Sirius suddenly wished he could take those words back. They were burdensome, placing the responsibility of his happiness on a nine year old boy.

"Do you want me to stay?" Harry asked softly. "Do you want me to stay here in two years? I'm already trained in fifth year material. Going to Hogwarts is just for appearances anyway. I don't have to…"

"No," Sirius cut in quickly, but saying 'yes' was so tempting. He knew if he just asked, Harry would agree. But that would be condemning him. He would be tying down a boy with a bright, hopeful future with two solitary recluses for the rest of his life. "You should still go to school, Harry. There are a lot of things we can't teach you here, and you need to make friends."

"I want to stay here," Harry whispered.

Sirius smiled, running his fingers lazily through Harry's unruly hair. "You're still young. In a couple of years, Remus and I are going to be like boring old men to you."

"No!" Harry pulled away sharply. "I won't ever think that. Remus is practically my second godfather. And you're my godfather. You both did so much for me, and I… you've given me so much and I never gave you anything…"

Sirius shook his head with a soft sigh, brushing back a lock of hair that had made its way into Harry's eyes. It had to be wrong for a nine year-old boy to have such a strong sense of misplaced duty. 

"No, that's not the point of parenting, Harry," Sirius said lightly. "We're supposed to raise you, and then you're supposed to run off and splurge all our money."

Harry looked horrified. "I won't do that, I promise!"

_Well, perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say…_ Sirius reflected on an afterthought. Harry's view of the world had been horribly skewed after his experience with the Dursleys—_damn them!—_and his reclusive life in the Moor House. He never did learn what it was like to be normal.

"I know you won't," said Sirius finally. "But Harry, you have to leave one day."

Harry fell silent, his eyes searching his godfather's face intently. He was hesitant, Sirius realized. In a way, Harry did want to stay with them for the rest of his life. For three years, the nine year old had known only a handful of people, none of which are friends his age. His trips to the public were sparse and scattered. Harry was so acquainted with the life of peaceful, cageless confinement that he was beginning to forget what it was like to live any other way. His past experiences had instilled in him a thick shell of shyness, and Sirius never doubted that, if he could, Harry would remain solitary for the rest of his life. 

Sirius inwardly sighed; Harry couldn't go on like this forever, but he couldn't bring himself to let go.

"So why are you up at five in the morning?" Sirius asked, trying to brighten the mood as he pushed those thoughts away.

"I had a dream," Harry said simply. 

He tried to keep his tone light, but Sirius noticed the darkening of his eyes instantly. After raising the child for three years, he could read Harry's face like a book.

"A premonition?" Sirius asked sharply. He searched Harry's face with concern, "I thought these dreams stopped."

"They did!" Harry insisted; for a brief moment, a flicker of a confusion that Sirius had not expected to see replaced the unease in his eyes. "This dream wasn't… it was strange. I couldn't remember it."

"What?" Sirius sat back, surprised. Harry never had a dream he couldn't remember, not even a nightmare. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded, biting his lip nervously. "I can't even remember what it was about. I don't think it was a dream I'm supposed to see."

The importance of that blew over Sirius—it must have been something Harry learned while being privately tutored by Dumbledore. 

"Is there any part of it that you can remember? Just a little?" Sirius asked anxiously. 

Harry shook his head.

Sirius bit his lip—a nervous habit that he had contracted from his godson—and felt his stomach tie itself into tiny knots. It had been three years since Harry had any premonitory dreams. Dumbledore had assured him that Harry did not have the Sight; he lacked the abilities of true seers to see the futures of others. Any dream that Harry had would affect him directly…

Sirius desperately hoped it wouldn't. 

A soft creak from the top of the stairs abruptly scattered those thoughts. Harry jumped to his feet, his dream completely forgotten, and scrambled up the stairs.

"Moony!" Harry said brightly. Even after the years, he had never relinquished his habit of greeting his guardians with one word names. 

Remus smiled at the little boy who was currently dashing up the stairs to meet him. He looked weary, Sirius noted, but the full moons during winter months were especially straining and left him perpetually tired. Sirius checked his watch and winced. It was much too early for Remus to be awake.

"Weren't you sleeping?" Harry asked worriedly, taking Remus' arm as if fearing he would fall.

"I was until I heard the two of you overturning the living room," Remus said, smiling. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"Bothering Padfoot," Harry answered automatically.

"Hey!" Sirius made an indignant face at them from below the stairs.

Remus shook his head with a rather exasperated sigh. He let Harry lead him downstairs to the divan beside the fireplace, mostly to humor him as the little boy always seemed more comforted when he aided others. Remus didn't think it was a normal, nine year-old boy's behavior, but Harry would never change.

"You should have slept more," Harry said to him with much concern, and Remus couldn't help but feel embarrassed. It just wasn't right, to have a nine year-old boy fussing over him. "Tonight's full moon will be longer by an hour. You'll be tired tomorrow."

"I was worried that Padfoot was going to attempt breakfast," Remus teased lightly. "I'll be fine." 

He smoothed out Harry's unruly hair out of habit, and straightened his rumpled coat. It was unusually disheveled for an early morning, and Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

"Was Sirius picking on you again?"

Harry nodded, grinning widely. 

"Hey, which little Harry Hawk was the one who spilled my coffee?" Sirius snapped good-naturedly. He mussed up the boy's hair until it stood on end, and figuring that wasn't a cruel enough punishment, ruffled Remus' hair as well. "You're always siding with him!" 

Remus was sorely tempted to do the same to Sirius' hair, but it looked tangled enough. "Of course I am. You, Sirius, are a big boy who should be quite capable of taking care of yourself."

Sirius bristled.

"Well, Professor McGonagall did say…" Harry abruptly swallowed the rest of his words and gave Sirius a bright, innocent smile. 

Remus' cheeks were beginning to hurt just trying to keep that smile off his face. _Of course, Professor McGonagall… _It had been during one of Sirius' escapades—

_More specifically, an incident in which he charmed all the pots and pans in the house to dance a never ending Scottish jig for anyone who couldn't run fast enough… _

_Harry had fallen victim to it for the past three days._

_"Moony…" the boy's shout of alarm came out more like a moan of distress._

_Remus hurriedly closed the notebook he had been making notes in and rushed downstairs. Bursting into the kitchen, he couldn't decide whether to laugh or groan at the sight. The pan—whatever spell Sirius had placed over them, it made them nearly impermeable—that Harry was attempting to make pancakes with somehow recovered from the freezing charm it had been struck down with last night and was currently stuck to Harry's wrist. _

_Remus inwardly cringed in sympathy when the pan attempted to lead Harry tap dancing across the kitchen. Harry's glasses were lying on the ground, and Remus knew if he could actually see, his attacker would have been frozen in a block of solid ice._

_"Harry, you better stay still, let me see if… oh bugger…" the pan was repelling his charms. What the hell had Sirius done to it? "Sirius, get down here! Harry's…"_

_Remus' shout dissolved into a gasp of alarm when a pot suddenly leaped for his foot. He dodged it but others were popping up from all the cupboards. And then, before he knew it, about four pots were jumping in dizzying circles around him and—dear gods, no—**singing**…_

—when the transfiguration professor had abruptly dropped in, dragged Sirius downstairs, and scolded him as if he were a young child. She had been adamant on her belief that Harry was the most mature one in their misfit household, which hopelessly embarrassed Harry, amused Remus to no end, and blew Sirius' lid.

Judging by Sirius' expression, he definitely remembered too. Remus was sure he was sulking slightly. 

"That's it," he grumbled. "I'm keeping that squawking cow away from you."

"Squawking… cow…?" Harry repeated in confusion. 

"You didn't hear that," Sirius said quickly. 

More like '_don't tell her I said that_,' Remus amended silently.

"Wipe that smile off your face!" Sirius pointed an accusing finger in Remus' direction with much indignance. "Whenever you're wearing that half smirk, I know you're mentally laughing at something at my expense."

Remus couldn't stop his lips from twitching more. He had to look away from Sirius face to get that bubbling feeling under control. 

Another side affect from living under one roof with Sirius and Harry, Remus reflected belatedly. He was growing terribly out of practice with maintaining any sense of emotional control. Those years after Voldemort's fall and even in Hogwarts, he had kept himself so carefully hidden fearing the slightest slip that would most definitely have hurt. But in the Moor House, where there were just Harry and Sirius who cared about him despite everything, things changed…

"I'll go make breakfast," Harry said suddenly. Apparently, he'd decided to come to Remus' rescue, or at least interrupt before the two of them went off on another of their hour long bantering.

"Something simple will be fine, Harry," Remus said quickly. "Some toast, or maybe eggs. Be careful with the oil."

Harry nodded patiently, but Remus had the vague idea he sounded like a worrisome parent to the boy at that moment. Remus shot a pointed look in Sirius' direction with a silent message to help, but something heavy came over Sirius' face when the boy's back was turned. Remus stilled at the sight. He knew that expression…

When the door to the kitchen slipped shut and Harry fell out of earshot, Sirius turned to Remus urgently and Remus' stomach clenched before he even spoke. Something was wrong…

"He's dreaming again, Moony," Sirius whispered. "He can't remember it, but I think something's going to happen. Those dreams are coming back."

*

[1] 160 centimeters, roughly about 5.25 feet. 

Ok. In Hunting for Marbles, I said I had no internet. But surprise surprise! Our dorm had it up and running last Wednesday. Well… I thought, you know, this is nice. Since no one expects me to be back, I could stay hiding and write in relative peace and no one will blame me. But then, I read Black Jade's review, and I felt… well… really bad. So here is CoS, but I'm still working on PoM and WS rewrites. Those won't be updated for another month or so, mostly because I'm not comfortable with updating PoM unless I have at least 3 chapters written ahead, and WS because its rewrite is still up and it will be awful if I removed it.

A shout out to Black Jade, who reviewed CoS continuously and kept kicking my muse until I was seriously worrying about… well, not so much getting lynched, but well… I donnuo. But you guilted me into posting. I turned on the computer today, checked my email like any other day, then lo and behold… a 4k review (most reviews don't exceed 2). Clicked it, read it, fretted for your sanity, then... well… here it is. Is your head ok?

Not much changed for the first chapter, I'm sorry. But the ones following will start having some serious tweaking.

I'm working on about three stories at once: WS, CoS, and PoM (which is by far the most hectic and is really giving me nightmares). Then, there are the various shorts: Of Snow, Hunting for Marbles, and Half of Dueling Range part 2. I guess I can resign myself to not writing anything new for a long time. But the good news is that they're going a lot faster than they used to… so I guess there should be at least one post every month from now on. Not as good as the days way back when WS got updated twice a week, but I can't even remember how I managed that. Ack.

I have a mailing list! The link to it is on my profile, so join that if you'd like reminders. It won't have any junk. Only moderators can post, so if you join, you don't have to worry about getting emails for random messages that come up. 

You should all feel terribly sorry for my beta readers. I go whining to them about everything. They're the reason why the bashing reduced considerably. Many, many thank yous to DC (who had to listen to me whine for about an hour on msn and I think, about to recommend me to a psychiatrist), Claudia (who I tortured with my terrible grammar skills and I'm sure was nearly driven insane by how many times I mixed up past and past perfect tenses), and BellaMonte (who had to deal, and is still dealing, with me tearing out my hair through the planning of PoM and even wrote be about 12 pages worth of analysis though various emails). I'm sure if they had the opportunity, they'd all be bailing out of their jobs because of all my terrible habits. I should have added a footnote to my plea for a beta on blogger about my quirks, but too late! *evil cackle* Just kidding. But really, I'm truly sorry for pestering you all so much and thank you so much for voluntarily helping me. It's an awful job I'm sure. Everyone should all burn incense to honor them.


	2. of ghost voices

Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers. 

a/n no, don't kill me!

**Clawtracks of a Star**

By neutral

Chapter two - of ghost voices

That entire day felt dreary. The sun never did appear, and a few hours after breakfast, the skies had opened up and Moor House was creaking under heavy downpours. It was still November, not cold enough for snow, but the rain left a damp layer over everything that made them all feel as though they were wearing a thin layer of ice. By noon, they had all decided to camp out in the study in front of the fireplace, huddled in blankets with cups of warm tea. 

These were the days Remus wished his transformations only involved hair growth. His joints were killing him.

Sirius' words had put a rather permanent damper on Remus' mood, and he spent half the day mulling over various books and the other half pretending he wasn't. If Harry had sensed—and Remus was sure he did; the child was always unnaturally perceptive—how worried he was over just a dream, the boy may avoid telling them things of this sort again. The fact that he and Sirius were worried was probably troubling Harry more than anything.

Should they be so disturbed by a dream Harry would not even remember? Remus wondered. It could be something trivial, like Dumbledore said. But for the past three years, their lives in the Moor House were peaceful, almost too peaceful, like a calm before a very disastrous storm. Perhaps some catastrophe would crash over them unexpectedly…

"Remus, make your move before the pieces fall asleep."

Remus started. Sirius was watching him intently across the chessboard, and Remus mentally chided himself. _Act normal. Act like everything's okay. I'm only overreacting like the paranoid idiot that I am… _Remus quickly glanced to the rug beside the fireplace, looking to see if Harry had noticed his lapse but the child seemed completely absorbed in his book.

"Oh, sorry. Where did you…?"

"Knight to E6," Sirius glanced at Remus quizzically. "You just lost your bishop."

Remus inwardly sighed. He must have been really distracted to lose a piece he had not meant to lose to Sirius. Of course, he wasn't playing terribly enough to actually lose a game to his friend—Sirius was god awful at chess, period, with no exceptions—but it was still rather unsettling. 

"Am I winning?" Sirius asked with some disbelief.

"Not really, Sirius." Remus grinned, reaching for a mug of hot cocoa. "Pawn to B8. Pawn becomes Queen. Check."

Sirius perked up in his seat. "Wait! How did that happen? That was not legal, Moony."

Remus just looked at him over the rim of his cup and didn't even grant him a reply.

This was usually the time when Harry would intervene—Remus and Sirius had played enough times that it became almost an inevitable occurrence—and tell his godfather that the move was legal, and that Remus was three paces away from a checkmate, that Sirius should move his knight there and his queen there and would Sirius like him to play in his place? 

Both Sirius and Remus considerately kept silent, waiting for Harry's soft voice to pip in, but it was quiet. Bewildered, Remus looked at the child's rug beside the fireplace again. Harry was still caught up in his book, though on closer inspection, he was blinking repeatedly and slowly inclining to one side. Remus couldn't help but smile; how many times had he seen Harry nodding off over a book, just like this?

"Oh," Sirius sighed, shaking his head slightly. He leaned over the side of his chair and gently patted the child's back. Harry sluggishly glanced up. "Hey Harry, time to go to bed."

Harry furiously shook his head. "Can't," he mumbled. "Moonrise is in an hour… I think."

Remus inwardly flinched. He never wanted Harry to deal with his affliction. He had an idea of how grotesque it must have been to see the twisting of the limbs and he remembered how Sirius, James, and Peter had first reacted. But the morning following that full moon three years ago and Remus had awoken in the cellar and seen Harry, only six at the time, huddled beside Padfoot and shivering madly because of _him,_ Remus felt… he didn't know what he had felt. But it had been cold and painful and Remus had crumpled whenever the child's sorrowful gaze turned to him.

No, he didn't want the child with him on full moons. Harry felt too much…

"What?" Harry blinked at Sirius sleepily. "I didn't hear what you said…"

"I didn't say anything," Sirius told him quietly. "Did you drift off for a moment there?" 

Harry rubbed his eyes, brow furrowing in consideration. "But I thought…" His next words were swallowed up by a jaw popping yawn.

Smiling gently, Remus patted the place beside him on the couch. "Come here, Harry. You look exhausted." 

Harry climbed to his feet with great effort and stumbled over. It didn't look like he'd make it onto the couch without a few mistrials and Remus quickly hoisted him up. 

"Go to sleep," Remus instructed and when Harry looked ready to protest again, quickly added, "You're going to spend the entire night sleeping in the cellar. What if Moony accidentally tramples Mr. Talons, hm?" He tapped Harry on the nose teasingly.

That was more sadistic than amusing… No, it wasn't amusing at all. It would be appalling if the wolf trampled or—gods, please, no—attempted to eat Harry's animagus form.

Harry weaseled himself under Remus' blanket—which somehow enlarged itself, no doubt from one of Harry's silent spells, when he wasn't paying attention—and curled up in a way that only Harry could, tucked between the armrest and Remus' side.

"Will you wake me up?" Harry asked sleepily, still determined. 

"In the morning," Remus assured him.

The boy nodded sluggishly and his face disappeared under a fold of the blanket. Remus smiled; Harry must be really tired if he hadn't realized anything was wrong with that answer.

Remus looked back at the forgotten chess game and noticed Sirius watching him, leaning with his cheek against his knuckles, grinning in a fashion that set the alarms in Remus' head wailing in full blast.

"When you're wearing that smirk, I know you're mentally laughing at something at my expense," Remus eyed him suspiciously, keeping his voice soft.

"Manipulator," Sirius mouthed, glancing at the lump in the blanket that was Harry and then back at Remus. "Taking advantage when the poor boy's half asleep, you're evil you know."

"You prat," Remus whispered good-naturedly. "You would have done the same."

"No I wouldn't. I wouldn't have sounded so innocent while at it. No wonder McGonagall never did think you'd do anything wrong when you're the one who obviously cursed that rubber rat to stick on her tongue."

"Gods, Sirius, that was fourteen years ago!" 

Sirius smirked. "I knew it. You did it."

"I deny it. Well, I… how did we start on this?" Remus frowned, shaking his head and trying to hide that incriminating blush that was overtaking his face, "Never mind. The point is Harry's tired. He was up at five this morning and he'll be the one up tomorrow making us breakfast. He deserves to sleep."

Expectedly, that ended Sirius' attempts to embarrass him more. Stepping around the chessboard—the pieces were quietly snoring—Sirius knelt beside the couch and tugged a corner of the blanket away. Harry had somehow twisted himself under the covers until he was sleeping with his stomach against the armrest and his arm dangling over the sofa. Softly, Sirius eased the boy into a more comfortable position and set his glasses aside. Harry was too deeply asleep to even make a sound.

"Is he dreaming, you think?" Sirius asked quietly.

"It'll be a good sign if he doesn't," said Remus. "But if he does, Dumbledore insisted not to worry about it."

"Not to worry about it?" Sirius echoed skeptically. "That's all he said?" 

"He talked a lot about the Oath." Remus frowned, thoughtfully tapping his fingers against his knee. "He mentioned something about 'leaking' and how what Harry saw might be something that involves the two of us but not Harry."

"Harry can dream about our futures too?" Sirius whispered. He looked depressed by the prospect and Remus had to admit he shared that sentiment.

"No, not really," Remus said. "That's why he couldn't remember it. It wasn't meant to be seen by him. Dreams select their seers. Dumbledore was quite insistent about that."

Sirius shook his head with a sigh. "This is making me wish I took Divination."

"Don't. It was worthless. I never learned this until this afternoon," Remus admitted. "But what I could make sense of Dumbledore's explanations, mind you, his riddles were giving me headaches for quite some time—" Sirius grinned knowingly, "—we all have dreams of our past and future. Only, we can't remember them, and that's what sets us, Harry, and true seers apart. We dreamt, Harry saw our dreams through the bond that binds us, but we lack Harry's ability which was why he felt it and we did not. We've been over reacting all day."

"Oh," Sirius said eloquently, blinking rather dazedly, "that just makes me feel like an idiot."

"No, some interesting things did come out of this," Remus added. Rather unconsciously, Remus had fallen into that tone of voice which Sirius had dubbed 'meet Professor Moony' but Sirius was much too distracted to tease him on it. "Dumbledore said the Oath is strengthening for unforeseen reasons."

Sirius hesitated. "Is that…?" he trailed off into silence.

"It could mean anything, Sirius. It's been centuries since there was a documented Oath that was successful, but there was none in our situation. Dumbledore isn't sure about the true extent of its affects. On the surface, there don't seem to be many, but a lot of it runs below our consciousness."

Sirius' eyes darkened. "Its true extent is already clear."

"Sirius, it's unavoidable now," Remus whispered. "There's nothing we can do about it."

Sirius didn't reply but instead watched the child pensively. Harry looked younger without his glasses, Remus realized. Perhaps it was because those round frames seemed to give the illusion of rounder cheeks perhaps they made Harry look more scholarly, Remus couldn't decide which. But Harry just looked so… _small_…

Remus swallowed, trying to ease out the knots that were in his throat. "We should be happy that it kept you and Harry from dying, Sirius. It's borrowed time that we've been keeping."

Sirius closed his eyes and sighed. "No, it's not… I just…" he broke off, breathing sharply. "Does it bother you that Harry's _relieved_ we have this" Sirius gestured vaguely, "clincher?"

"Yes, always." Remus looked at his hands, so worn and aged compared to Harry's own. "But we have to remember it was what saved him."

_Though one day, it will most likely be what will kill him, _ Remus realized_._ It was the curse to the Oath. It bound them as one, bound their lives as one, and if one of them fell they would fall as one. It was meant to be cast among people of the same age, not among people twenty years apart. When either he or Sirius died—though Remus had a sickening idea that it would be him, as his affliction shortened his lifespan considerably—he would drag Harry with him because those tangled in such oaths were not meant to live without the others.

They had doomed Harry to an early death…

"Remus," Sirius said sharply, looking at the clock over the mantelpiece, "moonrise is in ten minutes. We better go down to the cellar."

Remus paled, mentally berating himself. He had completely lost track of time and such slips were dangerous with Sirius untransformed and Harry sleeping nearby. He gently eased Harry away from his arm, grimacing when his aching joints protested. Remus couldn't hide some embarrassment and irritation when Sirius felt the need to help him to his feet, but accepted his friend's hand nonetheless.

"I'll put Harry to bed," Sirius whispered. "I'll meet you downstairs."

Remus nodded then leaned over to plant a light kiss on the child's forehead. Harry made some sleepy murmurs in response, and when Remus made his way to the cellar, he was trying to remember when boggarts had stopped turning into round orbs whenever he was near.

_A face… who was it? _

_Harry tried to look closer but there was a buzz all around him, like the static on the telly Dudley used to watch a long time ago. Harry waved his arms, trying to push the fog away, but it curved around him like snow._

_The man—it was a man, Harry knew instinctively—opened his mouth and began to speak._

_'A…' the rest of his words was broken up by the drone._

_'What are you saying?' Harry asked him._

_The man's face wasn't blurring as much. Rather, it grew steadily clearer, and Harry realized why he couldn't make out his features. The man had none. He was wearing a white mask._

_'…nt… ha… you…'_

_'What?' Harry asked, confused. 'Please, I can't hear you. Say it again.'_

_The man was reaching out, breaking away from the buzz around him and ripping through the fog. Suddenly, the man was standing in front of him cloaked in dark flowing robes, looking down at him through the holes in the white mask. Harry stared back._

_'It's you…' the man breathed. His voice was hoarse but familiar._

_Harry peered up at his curiously. His eyes captivated him. They were a pale blue, like ice chips, and Harry knew those eyes…_

_'You have Sirius' eyes,' Harry told him, smiling. 'Your eyes are just like my godfather's.'_

_The man sank to his knees. He was shaking. 'You. Why is it you again?'_

_The man sounded wounded. Harry reached out to reassuringly pat him on the head._

_'You dreamt about me before?'_

_'For years…'_

_'Really?' Harry was fascinated._

_'For three years…' the man looked at him with an emotion that Harry couldn't discern. 'But you're speaking to me.'_

_Harry was bewildered. 'Am I not supposed to?'_

_'You never did before.'_

_Harry didn't know what to make of it. 'Are you a Seer, sir?'_

_The man opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. He lifted his hand and, slowly, almost fearfully, he pressed his fingertips against Harry's forehead and trialed them down the side of his face._

_'I never knew ghosts could be touched,' he breathed in wonder._

_'I'm not a ghost,' Harry said._

_The man flinched back as if burned and suddenly, he was trembling madly again. _

_'Go,' he said. His eyes were wild. 'Stop haunting me. Don't come into my dreams anymore!' _

_Harry took a few steps back. 'I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know…'_

_'Go away!' The man lashed out but his hand faltered and froze just before Harry's face. 'Go away…'_

_'Sir, I…'_

_'**Go away!!**'_

Harry awoke with a hoarse gasp. It was dark and for a terrified moment, Harry thought he was still trapped in that dream with that strange, tormented man. But then, slowly, he began to notice the blankets tangled around his shoulders and the outline of his four-poster above his head. Squinting, Harry sat up and recognized the familiar and comforting surroundings of his own bedroom.

Automatically, he shuffled around his nightstand for his glasses—he always placed them there, and if he had fallen asleep elsewhere, then Remus or Sirius always placed them there for him—and pushed them on shakily. His hands were trembling. Harry stared at them with detached confusion. His hands never shook unless he had a vision, but that dream… _what was that dream?_ It didn't feel like a premonition, a nightmare or even a figment of his imagination. It felt…

Harry shuddered. It felt as though he just had a conversation with a ghost.

But was that even possible? Harry furiously tried to remember any of Dumbledore's lessons that might hint at it, but his mind drew a blank. He barely knew anything about spirits, except that they were strongest during nights of complete lunar eclipses and…

_'Revenge… its revenge…'_

Harry froze. 

_'… he's haunting me.'_

"Sir?" Harry called out apprehensively. "Are you here?"

Silence. Anxiously, Harry glanced around—more of an instinctual response really, because he already felt that his room was empty—and slowly tried to reach out with magic. Whatever apparition that had surrounded him earlier was gradually fading. Fragments lingered and Harry prodded at them tentatively. _Who… _Harry blinked. _ Sirius? _

It was Sirius' presence that colored the room. Harry bit his lip. And why wouldn't it? This had been his room. And Sirius was probably the one who had tucked him in last night. Harry sank back against the pillows, rubbing his forehead. He must have been half dreaming when he heard those voices… 

Though how long had he been asleep? Harry glanced at the clock on his nightstand and sat up sharply. There was a small orb hovering above his lamp—a charm he had placed there to remind himself of the moon phases—and Harry noted with a sinking stomach that it was nearly translucent. He had completely slept past the full moon! Remus had transformed back nearly two hours ago…

The dream and the voices completely forgotten, Harry scrambled out of bed and frantically dug around his closet for a spare blanket. Remus would need one; he always used the downstairs guestroom after transformations because the stairs were troublesome and Harry hadn't set extra blankets in it yet and it had to be cold… oh, how could he have missed it? It was one of the longest full moons that year! Well, not the longest, but… he still hadn't wanted to miss it…

Harry finally uncovered a thin woolen blanket and hauled it with him as he ran, barefoot and still in his pajamas, downstairs. He nearly tripped over the thing several times before he thought to levitate it over his head. 

How had he slept through Remus' change? He never had before. It always sent him into a fit of shivers—perhaps that was why his hands were shaking after the dream? The feeling wasn't painful but terribly uncomfortable, like there was something squishy moving around in his joints. He knew the bits of what he could sense were just a fraction of what Remus was feeling. Harry tried to imagine the pain of having all his limbs bent apart but couldn't. It was too awful…

He ran past the living room—skidding on the rug and nearly falling all over again—weaving through the various corridors in the Moor House. The guestroom Remus always used was a rather secluded one beside the library, and Harry hurriedly hushed his footsteps as he neared it. He didn't want to disturb him if he was resting. 

Cautiously, he cracked open the heavy door. 

"…ur hand," came his godfather's voice. He sounded like he was speaking through a yawn. "You should have Harry transfigure the walls in the cellar into marshmallow."

Harry blinked. 

"No," said Remus quietly. His voice was slightly hoarse, but he was speaking which was a good sign. "Then not only will Padfoot get sugar high, the house will sink on its foundations."

Harry opened the door a bit wider and peaked inside. Sirius was sitting on the spare chair beside the bed, rummaging through a drawer and looking very tired. He was pale and his hair was rumpled, and there were streaks of dust along his cheeks that seemed to add to the shadows under his eyes. He couldn't see Remus—he was lying on his side, facing the fireplace, and Harry could only see his back—but Harry had a sickening feeling that he looked much worse.

"Hm… something other than wood and dirt," Sirius said. He fished out several glass vials from the drawer and set them on the nightstand. "Your fingers look like rats chewed them."

Harry cringed.

"Hand," Sirius instructed, pulling out his wand.

"Oh no." Remus immediately hid his hands under the covers. "You're awful at those spells. I'll just take the potions, thank you."

"My healing spells are perfectly fine," Sirius patiently said, as if speaking to a very stubborn child.

"No, they are not!" Remus scooted back, hissing in pain when his abused muscles protested, and shot a warning glare at Sirius when he looked about to intervene. "The last time you attempted to heal anything, my rib was transfigured into a quill. Put that thing down!"

"Okay. Potions. Okay."

Sirius transfigured a stray novel into a pillow—to which Remus objected but was dutifully ignored—and tried to help Remus sit up. Or he would have helped if Remus hadn't shot him that patented Remus _look_ which Sirius had entitled 'go away, you are insulting my dignity' and Harry had entitled 'I have this situation fully under control, you are dismissed, thank you very much.' Remus kept him pinned until Sirius quickly sat down again. 

"What possessed Moony to try to dig his way to Mongolia?" Sirius asked after a pause, picking at an unraveling embroidery on the blanket. He watched Remus methodically drain the row of little glass vials on the nightstand out of the corner of his eye.

"No, I'm pretty sure if he were trying to dig to anywhere, it probably would have been Siberia. There are dozens of werewolf colonies in that region," Remus mused with a slight grimace. The last vial was apparently quite bitter. "But I don't know the answer. Ask Moony next month."

"Maybe. Well, anyway, thanks to you, we now have a Harry sized hole in the middle of the cellar."

Remus tiredly sank back against the pillows. He flexed his mauled fingers experimentally. "Is it that bad?"

"It's a good sized barbecue pit. We should take advantage of it."

"Sirius, there's not enough ventilation. We'd suffocate."

"No we won't. We could just move a few potted plants that could" Sirius made a hazy gesture,"burp out our oxygen."

Remus lifted his head, blinking at Sirius owlishly. "It's called byproducts of photosynthesis, and Sirius, what book have you been reading lately?"

"Some muggle gardening magazine…" Sirius examined the ceiling thoughtfully, "what was it… umm… Greenhouse something…"

"I give up. Sirius, try that and I'll call Madam Pomfrey into resuscitate you in an hour. Go on." Remus nudged the side of Sirius' head with an elbow and Sirius, grinning, tilted out of the way.

"Does it have to be her? Couldn't you call someone in from St. Mungos? Someone with less gray in her hair and preferably with larger—" 

"Sirius, you're horrible," Remus groaned. "Don't ever go near anyone with high blood pressure."

"No, I meant that quite seriously…"

Harry made himself comfortable at the doorway. His two guardians seemed to have fallen back into their comfortable bantering—though their comfortable bantering was always a bit different when he was present; Harry was having some trouble understanding some of the things Sirius was saying—and Harry didn't want to intrude. He should go make breakfast…

But just when Harry decided not to be noticed, it seemed to completely backfire. Sirius looked to the partially opened door and suddenly lost his train of thought.

"Harry?" Sirius leaned over the edge of the chair to peer at the child. "What are you doing, standing in the hallway? It's freezing. Come inside."

Harry squeezed himself through the crack of the door. Sirius made room for him on the chair and he climbed on, blankets and all, and huddled into the corner.

"Harry, you're like a little ice cube," Sirius murmured, drawing him into a loose one-armed hug and lightly ruffled his hair (that was their every morning tradition. It couldn't be missed). "How long were you standing there?" A pause, and then slightly more uncomfortably, "What did you hear me say?"

"Something about Madam Pomfrey having too much gray hair," Harry noted quietly, and when Sirius blanched, quickly added, "Don't worry. I won't tell her you said that."

Oddly, Sirius didn't look comforted at all.

Remus smiled warmly at him. "Slept well?" he asked, carefully propping himself up.

Harry smiled back. But that quickly faded when he remembered why he was there in the first place. "I… I missed it. I'm really sorry. Are you okay?"

That was a meaningless question. He didn't look '_okay_'. He was so pale that he looked nearly ghastly, and the bony angles jutting through his shirt weren't what normal people had. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, and Harry knew that once they left him alone, Remus would sleep like someone comatose. 

But Remus still nodded. "Nothing happened. Apparently, according to Sirius' account, Moony did nothing memorable."

Harry bit his lip. "But I still shouldn't have missed it."

"Harry, see this?" Sirius asked, tugging lightly on a lock of Harry's hair. "It's going to become just like Moony's in five years if you keep this up. Oversleeping is a good sign, despite what books say about it."

"But Moony's hair is neat! It makes him look like…" Harry furrowed his brow in thought, "a would be Professor Dumbledore without the beard."

He had meant it quite seriously but Remus' lips twitched and Sirius dissolved into barely concealed sniggers.

"Don't let McGonagall hear you say that. She'll never bring you any more chocolate frogs." Sirius grinned, messily rumpling Harry's unruly mop again. Harry didn't bother to dodge his godfather's attempts to corrupt his hair. 

"But you always buy more chocolate frogs than we can eat," Harry pointed out. "Remus had to set a lot of them free last month."

"A pity too," Sirius huffed. "There was a miniature Candyland coming into creation before a big, bad wolf puffed it down."

"Puffed…? Oh, you prat," Remus muttered, rolling his eyes skyward, "I never thought cannibalism was possible among carbohydrates but there was an active food chain growing in the pantry. The gingerbread men were devouring each other. I was beginning to fear that the chocolate frogs would start breeding."

"That's a good sign. We could have an everlasting supply of sugar right there."

Harry blinked. Speaking of sugar…

"I have to make breakfast!" Harry remembered suddenly. "I almost forgot about it. What should I—"

Harry quieted. The strangest feeling washed over him just then, like he was being buried in snow. For a moment—a second, a minute, an hour, Harry didn't know—everything stood in frozen silence and a pulsing drone, a whisper that felt like it was coming from far, far away, drummed in the back of his mind. 

And then, it passed.

Harry shook his head slightly, trying to clear the cotton that seemed to have become his mind, and blinked furiously.

"Harry?"

Sirius' face drifted into view and Harry was disoriented, wondering why his godfather was so blurry. Harry peered up at him.

"Sirius?" Harry slurred out. His mouth felt stuffed full of cotton. "What happened?"

"Harry, you blanked out for a moment. Are you okay?" Sirius asked, very pale. Harry suddenly noticed that he was slumped against his godfather's shoulder, limp like a rag doll and half lying in Remus' bed, but Harry couldn't remember when he had moved.

"It… I felt something," Harry mumbled distantly.

"What did you feel?" Remus' head floated over him along with Sirius', watching over him anxiously.

"Numb… really quiet." Harry blinked. A part of him knew he should be frightened, but he just couldn't work out why. He vaguely thought something was familiar about the buzz that rang softly in his ears but… _where did I hear it? It's so familiar…_ "Ghost."

"What?" Sirius voice seemed to echo. 

Harry was having trouble making out his godfather's face. It was fading away steadily and Harry tried to figure out why but his thoughts felt heavy…

"I spoke to a ghost last night," Harry whispered. "I—" 

_'… fa… mo…ng…'_

Harry squinted. "Who is it?" 

"What? Harry, what are you talking about?" 

_'… burn it….'_

_Did Sirius say that?_ Harry wondered. _It sounds just like him._

_'…end it early. Force…' _

_'…no. We need to…'_

"Harry."

_'Then burn it. Burn it to the ground.'_

"Harry!"

*

Fanart! Christy drew an adorable picture of the flashback scene in which Harry became an animagus. She also drew the scene from Hunting for Marbles, when Sirius, grinning rather manically, is leading Ron and Hermione off to the Moor House. Go see, then visit her website because she has some amazing works.

Replies to reviews posted on ACKisms: the link is on my profile (ffNET filters out http links so I can't really post it here)

The previous version of CoS never did flesh out the friendship between Sirius and Remus. It was just mentioned that they bickered a lot, but they were never shown in action. I always told myself it'll be shown later on, but considering all the conflict arising later, well… it didn't seem like a good idea. So some things were reshuffled a bit and worked around. The previous chapter two really resolved absolutely nothing. It just took up pointless space. I hope this rewritten chapter was more informative, and I hope you're enjoying it more than the previous version.

I'm sorry! I know a lot of you are pissed off I never got around to explaining how the hell Sirius got out of that fix. But considering the majority of CoS blabbered on about absolutely nothing, it should reach that point around chapter 10 to 12 in this version. I'm hoping to keep this pace a lot faster. Or perhaps it's still the same, considering the chapters are longer than they were originally. Hm…

As for Of Snow, well, I never did get around to finishing it, did I? The story was suppose to be a two part thing but I lost sight of the plot (and forgot what I had planned for it) sometime through the eight month break I took from the WS verse. There's a new plot for it in the works, but it's rather… weird, and I'm sort of afraid to finish it off because it brushes (doesn't land in, but it does brush on it a bit) on a WS taboo of sorts, but the idea already logged itself and I can't get rid of it. Nonetheless, I'll be uploading what I have of it soon as a separate story. The other part… well… that'll have to wait until around 3 am when I'm partially drunk on sleeplessness and feeling especially brave.


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